


the way home

by wordsinbetween



Series: the way home [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Blow Jobs, Depression, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Movie Night, Pining, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23695225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsinbetween/pseuds/wordsinbetween
Summary: Richie looks up when the man from the garage walks into the room. He barely registers the question. His mind is buzzing immediately. The guy’s fucking beautiful.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: the way home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735579
Comments: 57
Kudos: 792





	the way home

**Author's Note:**

> Mechanic Eddie is finally here. This thing took over my brain and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. It turned into quite the monster. I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it!
> 
> Also: the "reference to illness" tag applies to a minor character, but it's still a little heavy.

Richie’s only been back in Maine for about three weeks now, spring finally loosening its hold and letting the summer heat up the days and drag out the nights. It’s June next week, somehow. He’s got the keys to an older house on the outskirts of town in his pocket, three miles from his sister’s house and a twenty minute drive to his parents’. It’s a six-month lease. The house is bare and empty, inside and out, the paint on the siding starting to chip and peel. 

It’s okay. It’s only six months. It’s nice being home, even if this isn’t quite the town they grew up in. The trees are tall and proud and ancient, standing so close together they hide what lies within them. The roads curve so sharply through the woods that he gets a headache if he’s sitting anywhere but the driver’s seat. It might as well be home. 

They think his dad’s got about four months left. Maybe this new medication will prove them all wrong. Maybe. Who knows.

It’s only a six month lease. Then he can run again. He’s reliable like that. 

He ignores another incoming call from Steve, sending it to voicemail and clearing the _five new messages_ notification from his lockscreen. _You need to tell me if these dates in Portland work or not, otherwise I can’t book Boston, Richie,_ he hears Steve’s voice in his head. _I know you had to go home because of your dad, but you can’t just drop off the map for six months--_

Fuck off, Steve. 

He gets into the deep red Pontiac Fiero parked out in front of the old house and whispers a gentle encouragement-- “C’mon, baby, please start for me,” and pumps his fist in the air when the engine dutifully turns over. 

“You’re gonna be as good as new, I promise,” Richie says as he sinks the clutch to the floorboard and puts the Fiero in gear, backing slowly out of the driveway and onto the quiet street. 

There’s a specialty shop ten miles away on the other side of town, advertising their love of restoring old classics and repairing basically anything older than 1995. Richie had called this morning, asking whether or not they had time to take a look at the old girl for him. He’d had the car shipped all the way from Los Angeles, unwilling to put it through a cross-country trip. It had been expensive and self-indulgent, but it’s not like he could have borrowed his sister’s old Civic for the next half year. 

Richie’s always been the type to need a distraction.

He pulls into the parking lot twenty minutes later and pulls into the empty parking space right in front of what he assumes is the lobby door. He walks in and hesitates when he notices it’s empty. The water cooler in the corner of the room gurgles absently. 

“Uh, hello?” 

He leans over the counter and looks through the door leading to the garage bay. He hears something metal fall to the ground and echo loudly, followed by a muffled shout.

“Be right with you!” A voice calls out. “There’s an intake form on the counter if you want to sign in.”

“Okay,” Richie says, more to himself than anything. He scribbles down his contact info and the car’s information on the form.

“So, you’re the guy who called about the Fiero earlier, huh?”

Richie looks up when the man from the garage walks into the room. He barely registers the question. His mind is buzzing immediately. The guy’s fucking _beautiful_. 

He’s wiping his hands on a rag that used to be red at some point. His fingers are covered in oil and grease, the black clinging to his skin even as he scrubs at it. He lifts a lean, muscled forearm to wipe at his forehead, pushing sweaty hair out of his face as best he can without the use of his hands. His shirt is tight across the chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. Richie knows he’s staring, but fuck, it’s hard not to. 

“Yeah,” Richie says, swallowing hard. “Hi. I’m Richie.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak. So, what’s going on?”

“Um.” 

Richie stares like an idiot. The pen in his hand nearly falls to the floor. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him and smiles a little. Oh. 

“With the car? Mike left a note saying something about a headlight?” 

“Right. Yeah. It doesn’t always, uh. Come up all the way? You know. It gets stuck half-way sometimes.”

Eddie nods and walks past him, holding the door open until Richie drops the clipboard on the counter and follows him outside. 

“You wanna pop the hood?” Eddie asks, dropping down into a squat in front of the car, carefully running his hand across the car’s emblem. “1987?” 

“1988 actually. It’s the GT.”

“It’s beautiful.” 

Richie blushes and immediately wants to slap himself. _What the fuck is happening._ He leans in through the driver’s side window and reaches down until he’s got a hand on the hood release. Eddie guides the hood up and immediately bends over, cocking his hip and resting lazily against the right fender as he peers inside at the wiring that runs to the headlights.

“Where’d you buy it? Arizona? California?”

“Wow,” Richie finally stutters out. “Yeah, California. How’d you know?”

“This thing’s practically rust-free. I haven’t seen a car from the ‘80s this clean in New England since they came off the line.”

“Yeah, I just moved back a few months ago. Y’know, family stuff.” 

Richie’s not quite sure why he said that. He barely knows this guy. But then Eddie glances up at him from where he’s leaning over the car and gives him a knowing little nod. He stands up straight and walks around to the rear end, unlatching the engine compartment door. 

“You grew up here?”

“Unfortunately.”

Eddie laughs softly under his breath and immediately Richie wants to hear that sound again.

“Yeah, I get that. Me too. Moved to New York for a few years but,” Eddie shrugs. “I needed to come home.”

“New York, huh? You don’t strike me as a big city guy.” 

“I drove for a car service,” Eddie says, pulling the dipstick out of the Fiero’s engine. 

He pulls out the rag that was tucked into his belt loop and wipes away the oil, his long fingers dragging the rag up and down the length of the dipstick. Methodically. Eddie’s still staring down at the engine, hip resting against the side of the car. Like he’s lost in thought. 

Richie tears his gaze away, embarrassed by the heat spreading across his face. 

“What, like limos?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie says, putting the dipstick back in and bracing himself on his forearms as he leans down for a closer look. “Not really, though. Mostly just a town car. You know, driving rich people around. Or their rich kids.”

“Right, right,” Richie says, heart pounding in his chest for some goddamn reason. _He doesn’t care who you are, calm the fuck down._

“So, is it just the headlight?”

“Huh?” Richie quickly looks back at his face, hoping he wasn’t just caught admiring the way Eddie’s back looks stretched out like that, the muscles defined under his black shirt. Luckily his head is still tucked down inside the trunk, cheek practically pressed to the bright red engine. Eddie stands back up and slams the door down, the latch locking with a satisfying click. 

“You said the headlight hasn’t been extending up?”

“Oh, right,” Richie says, laughing awkwardly _. Get a grip, dude._ “Yeah, the right one doesn’t always come up anymore. I drive around town winking at everybody.” 

Eddie smiles and rolls his eyes a little. Richie swallows hard against his dry throat.

“I haven’t really been driving it much the last year or so. Between my job and flying back and forth to Maine, she’s been a little… neglected lately. I’m not sure if it’s the battery, but I have to jump her every couple weeks, too.”

“I’ll take a look at it,” Eddie waves a hand at him. Black grease clings to his forearm; Richie watches the muscle flex with the gesture. 

“Cool, cool,” Richie says, taking his phone out of pocket. He’s gonna need a ride home.

“Did I get your number?” 

“I-- uh. You what?” Richie snaps his head up, mouth hanging open like an idiot. He closes it so quickly his jaw pops. 

Eddie smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to him. Ah, fuck.

“Did you write down your number on the intake sheet? You know, so I can call you when your car’s done? Or if I need to talk to you?”

“Yes, sorry. Yeah I did. You can, uh. You can call me whenever.”

 _Wow, smooth. Good save._ Richie looks down at his phone and brings up his sister’s contact.

“We’re closing in about fifteen minutes,” Eddie says, walking around the front of the car towards him. “Do you need a ride home? If you don’t mind waiting, I can drop you off wherever you need to go.” 

“Oh.” Richie’s absolutely blushing now. “Thanks. That’d be great.”

“We’ve got a couch inside if you wanna hang out there. I’ll pull your car inside for the night.”

Richie hands him the car keys and tries not to focus on the way Eddie’s fingers wrap gently around his. It was completely unnecessary. He could have just held out his hand, palm up, and taken the keys that way, but he didn’t. He brushes against Richie’s arm as he walks past him to get to the driver’s side door.

Richie drops his chin down and practically speed walks towards the shop’s lobby.

He thinks he hears Eddie laugh again, gentle and teasing, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the Fiero’s engine turning over. The exhaust is a soothing hum as it idles. Eddie plays with the gas, revving the engine once, twice, before easing it towards the open garage bay. Richie doesn’t dare turn around. He already loves that car so much, he’s not sure he can handle the image of Eddie sitting behind the wheel. 

He sits down on the lobby’s couch, glancing at the normal stuff cluttered around the room. It doesn’t feel crowded; it feels almost homey. The walls are lined with the usual car maintenance posters, advertisements for batteries and tires, a bright blue NAPA logo. Four framed photographs hang on the wall above the counter.

One of the photos is from what looks like opening day, a baby blue Mustang convertible and an old white truck, maybe a Ford or a Chevy, Richie’s not really sure, parked out in front of the shop. Eddie’s leaning on the hood of the Mustang, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a tall black guy. The _Kaspbrak Restorations_ sign over the front door looks shiny and new. Both men in the picture are grinning at the camera, giving a thumbs up. There’s a newspaper article framed, too, but it’s too high for Richie to read anything but the headline. _Kaspbrak Restorations Grand Opening Set for April 23_ , it reads.

He can hear the garage bay doors being closed, the motor humming and the doors rattling, screeching, as metal slides against metal. Richie notices a dog bed in the corner, frayed at the edges and covered in black and white fur. There’s a dog bowl, too, filled to the brim with water. No sign of a dog, though.

Richie takes out his phone and opens the unread message from his sister.

[5:27] Hey, will you be here for dinner tonight?

[5:53] _yeah sorry I’ll be there, I just dropped off the fiero at the mechanic and it took longer than I expected_

[5:55] Do you need me to come pick you up?

[5:57] _no it’s okay, the guy’s gonna give me a ride to your place_

[6:01] Is he cute ;)

[6:02] _I hate you_

He drops his phone into his lap and looks up to see Eddie walk in from the garage, wiping his wet hands on a paper towel. He’s wearing a different shirt now, something blue that looks like it would be soft to the touch. He disappears behind the counter for a minute and walks back out with keys in his hand and a black jacket on.

“You ready to go?” Eddie asks, zipping up the jacket.

 _Yeah,_ Richie thinks. _He’s definitely cute._

“Yep,” he says, popping the _p_ like an idiot.

Eddie smiles, though, and leads the way outside. Richie ducks his chin down to his chest and smiles, too.

He follows Eddie around the back of the shop and towards what looks like the white truck that was in the photograph. It has to be from the 1960s, but the outside is pristine. Eddie climbs into the driver’s side and leans across the bench seat to open the passenger door for Richie.

“Wow, this truck looks amazing,” he finally says, gaping at the dashboard. It looks worn and a little frayed at the edges but in a well-loved sort of way, like this truck had a previous life, like it worked hard and did its job and settled into a well-earned retirement.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, smiling as he backs out of the parking spot and eases out onto the road. “It was our first real restoration project. It’s technically Mike’s truck, but it kinda lives at the shop now. We just use it for errands or whatever.”

“Is Mike the guy I talked to on the phone?”

“Yeah, that’s him. We’ve been partners for like ten years now. It was actually his grandpa’s farm truck. It’s got the original 1966 motor and everything.”

Eddie looks proud and happy and Richie tries to get a hold on his sudden disappointment. Partners for _ten years_. Jesus. Richie should have known he didn’t stand a chance.

“That’s really cool,” Richie says after a moment, fidgeting in his seat. “It’s um– take a left on Hargrove and it’s just a couple miles up.”

Eddie nods, absently scratching at his chin as he drives. Richie forces himself to look away. The sun is starting to disappear behind the trees, casting blue and purple light across the road.

“So, why a Fiero?”

Richie laughs a little. “I dunno, man. I grew up in the ‘80s and the coolest car my family ever had was a station wagon.”

“One of the wood panel-sided ones?”

“Yeah, man! Of course! Me and my friends piled into the back and hung out the window driving to the lake like we were dogs. Tongues out and everything.”

“Cute,” Eddie snorts, turning his face just enough to look at Richie out of the corner of his eye.

_Wait, what?_

“Ha, uh. Yeah. If you’re into lanky dweebs with glasses bigger than their face, I guess. We were a little gang of misfits, that’s for sure.”

Eddie takes his foot off the gas and takes the left onto Hargrove, the old truck roaring as it accelerates back up to speed.

“So, yeah,” Richie continues, turning to look at the man next to him again.

He doesn’t understand Eddie.

He wants to.

“Anyway, my friend Bill’s dad had a Firebird and he’d let us kids wash it on those really hot summer days. You know, the ones that are so hot and sticky you’re desperate enough to do anything to get to play in some water. Came across the Fiero about six years ago through a friend of a friend. Scooped her up for nostalgia’s sake.”

“It’s a nice car.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty sexy,” Richie laughs. “It’s no Firebird, but she’s still got some flare.”

“You’re right about that,” Eddie says, looking at Richie again. He lingers, staring until he has to pay attention to the road again. Richie hasn’t been this confused in a long time.

“Oh, shit–” Richie sits up straight, pointing up ahead. “It’s the house up here on the right. Sorry, I lost track.”

Eddie shrugs and starts to slow down again, hitting the turn signal. His long fingers are loose on the steering wheel. Relaxed. Like he’s perfectly content driving Richie home, chatting about nothing and everything all at once. They pull into the driveway and he hops out of the truck once it’s idling in park.

“Hey, thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” he says, arm stretched out across the back of the bench seat now, his attention focused completely on Richie. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Richie’s face burns. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, a little smile on his face. “I should have time to look at your car first thing.”

“Oh–” _oh my god you idiot–_ “Yeah, take your time. I can bum rides off my sister, there’s no rush.”

Eddie gives him a little wave and Richie’s heart jumps right into his throat. He slams the door shut before he can embarrass himself any more. The truck doesn’t move from the driveway until he’s reached the front door, and when he turns around before disappearing inside, he expects him to be checking his phone or something. But instead he finds Eddie’s still watching him, a gentle look on his face, made softer by the fading evening light.

Richie thinks about him all night long.

~

He wakes up at nearly nine o’clock the next morning; the door to the guest bedroom is firmly shut but the sounds of energetic kids filter through. He drags the pillow over his face and groans, trying to block out the bright sun. His sister doesn’t fucking believe in dark curtains, apparently. He grabs his phone from the nightstand, and frowns as he goes through his notifications.

He’s really not a morning person.

Steve, of course, is as needy as always.

[02:17] Richie??? Are you going to give me an answer on the Portland dates?? I need to know by tomorrow

God. Maybe he needs a new manager. To be fair, he knows he’s a bit of a nightmare to manage sometimes – well, most times – but still. This isn’t a fucking vacation, Stevie boy, so maybe calm the fuck down.

He texts Stan instead.

[8:57] _being back in maine is so weird_  
[8:58] _also my sister’s kids are fucking loud all the time_

[9:01] It must run in the family.

[9:02] _aw love u too. I can always count on you to kick me when i’m down_

[9:04] How’s your Dad?

[9:06] _he’s ok._

[9:07] Sorry. I’m not very good at easing into the conversation. Are you okay?

[9:09] _yeah i’m ok. just sucks you know._

[9:10] I know. You can call me if you need to.

[9:13] _thanks. I’ll think about it._

Then he notices the missed call from a 207 area code and the corresponding little voicemail symbol.

 _‘Hey, Richie. It’s Eddie. I know it’s pretty early but I woke up wanting to get my hands on your car,’_ voicemail Eddie says, laughing softly under his breath like he’s a little embarrassed. Richie reaches out for the pillow to hide his face again, this time because of the goofy smile he can’t shove down. 

_‘Anyway,’_ voicemail Eddie continues. ‘ _It looks like the headlight motor is starting to give out, which isn’t really that surprising for a car this old. Pop-up headlights can be real pieces of shit sometimes. I’m gonna call a guy I know down in Portland and see if he can hook us up with a replacement. I don’t think it’ll cost that much. Oh, and I think your alternator’s probably causing the dead battery problem. Give me a call whenever you’re free and let me know if you want me to get those on order for you. I’m uh...’_

Eddie hesitates, giving a little cough. Richie presses the phone tighter to his ear.

‘ _I’m looking forward to hearing from you. Your car’s pretty awesome. Okay, uh. Bye Rich.’_

Richie lies there for five minutes, quietly persuading himself not to listen to the voicemail a second time, a third, like some lovesick teenager. He doesn’t know what it is about this guy. It’s just that he’s cute and confident and a little bit of a question mark. Plus, he’s got cute little dimples that break the seriousness of his face when he finally gives in and lights up. When Richie makes him _laugh,_ like it takes no effort at all. He sits up in bed and his finger hovers above the green call button.

There’s a soft knock at the door, firm enough to be heard but still hesitant. Richie smiles.

“Uncle Richie?” A little girl says.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he replies.

“We saved you some pancakes,” she says, the bubbling laughter of childhood circling her every word.

“Aw,” he says, drawing it out. “Thanks, Chloe. I’ll be right out, okay?”

“Okay!” His little niece shouts back before the sound of her running to the other room echoes through the hallway.

He shakes his head and presses call.

“Kaspbrak Restorations, how may I help you?”

“Hey, um– it’s Richie Tozier?”

“Oh, hey!”

He can hear Eddie’s smile through the line and it makes his pulse jump. He smooths the sheets under his hands just for something to do.

“I got your voicemail.”

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles a little, and Richie has to smooth out the sudden grin with his hand. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled this much.

“Sorry I called so early. Sometimes I get a little hyper-focused on stuff and wake up earlier than I need to. I guess I just like figuring out what’s wrong with something,” Eddie trails off, sounding a little uncertain.

“It’s a good thing you’re my mechanic then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, soft at the edges now. “I’m glad you picked me.”

If Richie didn’t know any better, he’d think it sounded like Eddie’s blushing a little, too.

“Me too,” he says; it hangs in the air for what feels like forever. “So, you hear back from your Portland guy?”

“Yeah, actually. Well, kind of. He’s got an alternator but he’s still checking on the headlight motor. It might take a day or two. I hope that’s okay?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “I trust you to take care of my girl.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, then he pauses. “I’ve been told I’ve got a gentle touch.”

Oh _, fuck._ Richie’s pretty positive he forgets how to breathe.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he says, like it’s a joke. They both know it’s not.

“Richie, I wanted to ask–” Eddie starts to say, then the line becomes muffled, like he’s got a hand over the receiver. “Hey, a customer just walked in, sorry. I’ll let you know when I hear back about the parts?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie nods, running a hand through his hair; who knew a simple phonecall could make you sweat. “No problem. I’ll be around. Have a good one.”

“Bye, Richie.”

He drops the phone onto the bed and paces a hole in the carpet.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

~

Richie doesn’t hear from him for hours. He eats pancakes and avoids his sister’s smirks. He lets Chloe bully him into letting her ride around his shoulders while they chase her little brother around the backyard. He collapses dramatically in the grass when it feels like his back is about to give out. He distracts the kids with quotes from their favorite “Uncle Richie Movies” while Sarah takes calls from their mother and the doctors and the grocery delivery service.

He feels a little guilty letting her bear the brunt of things, but none of it’s easy. He reads stories to the kids to settle them down for their naps, using every Voice in his repertoire, until their happy laughter settles into droopy eyes desperately trying to stay focused on the pictures. He shuts their bedroom door quietly behind him. 

He borrows his sister’s old Civic and drops by the local discount furniture store, paying for a new mattress and setting up delivery for the next morning. His new rental is pretty much fully furnished, but he doesn’t exactly want to spend the next six months on a lumpy old mattress. He finally texts Steve back, confirming his shows in Portland and Boston and maybe a college thing in Nashua for August. Time moves forward, even as his life lingers in a standstill.

He dreams about the woods that night. They smell of damp soil and decay, wildflowers and mud. But then he’s standing on the old bridge that overlooked the river that ran past his hometown, the river that swelled with anger every few years. In his sleep, he turns over and over, twisting the sheets in a hopeless tangle around his legs. It’s not summer, anymore. He is standing on the bridge and he is shivering, wet snow landing on his trembling shoulders and dripping from his hair into his eyes.

The world feels dead around him. He is alone.

~

He’s in his “new” house the next night, wrapping up a phonecall with Stan and paying the pizza delivery kid when his phone chimes in his ear. He doesn’t remember to check what the new message says until he’s settled into the couch, trying to decide which Mel Brooks movie to watch while he stuffs his face. He doesn’t recognize the number, but it’s definitely a Maine area code.

[7:05] Hey, Richie? This is Eddie.  
[7:06] Sorry, from the car shop. I should have specified.

He nearly chokes on his pizza. Luckily, it’s just him and whatever family of spiders has happily taken up residence in this normally-empty house. He wipes his hands on a napkin and presses play on the remote. The opening music to _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_ starts to boom through the speakers.

[7:17] _hey eddie, what’s up_ _  
_ [7:18] _it’s okay I figured. you’re the only eddie in my life_

[7:21] Sorry I didn’t call you with an update. I didn’t hear back from Jonny until it was almost closing time. Ended up being a busy day

[7:23] _lots of little ol grannies needing oil changes on a friday afternoon?_

[7:24] Haha, yeah actually. A few.  
[7:25] Plus one of our regulars got in an accident. Had to deal with the tow truck.

[7:26] _damn that sucks_

[7:30] It’s mostly cosmetic but yeah it does. He might need a new radiator.

He gets distracted by Cary Elwes because, well. He’s human. He grabs a few more slices from the kitchen and a beer from the otherwise empty fridge.

[7:41] _so you heard from the parts guy?_

[7:44] Oh right. He said he should be able to get the part delivered to my place by Tuesday morning.  
[7:44] You should have your car back by the end of the week.

[7:47] _that’s awesome!_ _  
_ [7:48] _you’re the best, eds_

[7:51] Eds? Really?

[7:53] _:)_ _  
_ [7:57] _so you guys don’t work weekends?_

[8:02] Not really. When we first opened, we were open on Saturday mornings. But we don’t really need to do that anymore  
[8:03] Sometimes I’ll go in if I’m in the middle of a project, though

[8:06] _addicted to the game, huh_

[8:09] It makes me feel useful. I like knowing the answer to what’s wrong. It's easier to figure out what's wrong with a car than with a person.

[8:12] _wow. that was.. deep_

[8:15] Sorry. It’s been a long week.

[8:16] _don’t apologize! you’re right_  
[8:17] _I just wasn’t expecting an answer like that_

Richie squirms around until he’s lying comfortably on the couch, blanket tucked around his legs. He really has no idea what to make of this guy. He’s got nothing better to do than text him on a Friday night? He thinks about the way Eddie ducks his head down when he laughs, he thinks about _I’ve got a gentle touch_. He thinks about– Mike–

[8:20] _so, weekends off, huh? you guys got any fun plans for tomorrow?_

[8:24] …who?

[8:26] _you and mike_

[8:27] Oh. I have no idea what Mike’s doing but I might take the dog to the lake. It’s supposed to be pretty nice out tomorrow.

[8:28] _you don’t know what he’s doing?_

[8:29] No?

Richie sinks deeper into the couch, somehow, and glances over at the TV. Ahchoo tells another joke. Blinkin runs into another tree. He reads Eddie’s last two messages a second time and then a third.

“Huh.”

[8:31] _oh cool_

_That doesn’t even make sense, you idiot._

[8:32] _you have a dog?_

[8:35] Yep :) her name is Ripley

[8:37] _a man with taste!!_

[8:39] Haha. I get nervous watching those movies honestly, but I love them.

 _I’ll let you hold onto me during the scary parts,_ Richie thinks, and then immediately rolls his eyes so hard it hurts his brain.

[8:42] _that’s adorable._

[8:44] Thanks. She’s pretty adorable, too.

Richie pulls the blanket over his face and groans so loudly his spider neighbors are probably wondering _what the fuck’s wrong with this dude?_ He’s fucked. He’s so absolutely fucked.

[8:46] Do you maybe wanna come to the lake with us tomorrow?

[8:52] _wow yeah that sounds fun! sure u don’t mind me tagging along?_

[8:55] Ripley loves new people. Plus it means she’ll bother someone else when she wants to play fetch in the water for an hour straight.

[8:57] _I love her already_

[9:01] Do you need me to pick you up?

[9:02] _if you don’t mind_

[9:04] Not at all. How about 11:30? I usually pick up some lunch on the way to eat while I’m there

[9:06] _sounds perfect to me. I’ll send you my new address. finally escaped my sister’s house_

[9:08] Great. Ripley’s very excited

[9:09] _yeah? well tell her I’m very excited too_

[9:12] I gotta get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, Richie.

[9:13] _goodnight eddie._

~

His sister calls the next morning to ask if he’s coming to the hospital with everyone on Monday. He busies himself by rifling through his suitcase, tossing clothes onto his unmade bed as he searches for the light blue shirt he _knows_ he packed.

“I think it’d mean a lot to them if you were there, Richie,” Sarah says, in a tone that says she knows this isn’t a conversation either of them wants to have, but they need to.

“I know,” he says, looking around at the chaos that surrounds him. “I’ll come. I’ll need a ride, though.”

“Sure. Did you want to come to the park with us today? The kids miss you already.”

“I’ve, uh– I’ve actually got plans today.”

“Plans?” She’s laughing at him, he can tell.

“Yeah, I’m going to the lake with someone,” Richie says. He is _not_ blushing.

“You’ve been here like a week, how’d you meet a guy that fast? Wait, actually, I don’t want to know.”

“Shut up,” he says, face absolutely burning now. “It’s not like that, okay? He’s just a… friend, I guess. He’s the guy working on my car.”

“Well, that’s one way to meet someone, I suppose,”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Have fun on your date!”

Richie tosses the phone onto the bed and continues his search, shouting a little triumphant _yeah!_ when he finally finds the shirt. He puts it on and flattens out the wrinkled edges. Shit. This isn’t a date, right? He doesn’t remember the last time he cared so much about what he was wearing, let alone for a trip to the fucking lake. He pulls on a pair of jeans and stares at himself in the dirty mirror until he finally says _okay, whatever, it’s not getting any better,_ and goes downstairs to wait for Eddie to pick him up.

An hour later, he gets the “I’m outside!” message and shrugs on a light jacket before walking out. Eddie’s driving a newer Subaru hatchback this time, the front windows rolled down and the back ones cracked down a few inches. He’s wearing sunglasses and it’s a lot hotter than Richie expected. Also, there’s a huge dog sticking its head through the crack in the window. Somehow. She’s fucking _huge_. And fluffy. Richie loves her.

He climbs into the passenger seat and laughs as the dog immediately sticks her nose in his ear, licking every inch of his face that’s within reach.

“Ripley, come on, get down,” Eddie huffs out, pushing at the dog’s chest with his elbow until she relents and happily sticks her gigantic head out the window again.

“I thought you said you had a dog, dude,” Richie grins, reaching back to pet her. “This is a fucking bear.”

“Would you believe me if I said she was the runt of her litter?” Eddie laughs and backs out of the driveway.

“She’s gotta be like 80 pounds, are you serious?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie smiles out at the road, gesturing with his hand even as his arm hangs out the window. There’s not a hint of grease on his skin, no dirt in his hair. He looks relaxed, like he’s already been soaking up the sun for hours. Like this is exactly how he wants to spend his day.

Richie thinks he looks beautiful like this.

“What is she?”

“She’s a Bernese Mountain Dog and yes, she weighs about 75 pounds.”

“I bet twenty pounds of that is fur.”

“Probably,” Eddie laughs again.

 _Please, please, laugh some more,_ Richie thinks.

They pull up to a drive-thru and order a couple of burgers before Eddie points the car north. The town falls away behind the further they drive, the trees growing closer together and covering the car in shade. The sun isn’t high enough in the sky to break through the lush early summer leaves. Eddie slows down as they approach an intersection, turning left onto an unpaved forest road and pushing them deeper into the wilderness. 

Ripley seems to know exactly where they are, scraping at the door with one paw and whining softly until Eddie rolls down the window the rest of the way. She stands on the arm rest and fits her entire chest out the window, tongue lolling in the wind. Richie laughs and turns around to take a picture. Eddie turns to look at him and smiles, and so Richie takes a picture of that, too.

They pull into a picnic area with a small beach that leads to the water. There’s a dock, too, stretching out into the lake. There’s nobody here but them. Richie grabs the bag of food and they eat at one of the picnic tables, making fun of the love letters carved into the wood while Ripley wanders around sniffing at each and every tree. Eventually she makes her way back over to them, sitting next to Richie with what can only be described as a grin on her face.

“Can I?” He says, waving a fry in the air. She follows it with her eyes, unblinking and drooling a little.

“Just one,” Eddie says. He’s not wearing his sunglasses anymore. Richie finds it hard to look away. Ripley, of course, whines and sets a giant paw on his thigh to regain his attention, displacing the dirt with her tail.

“Yeah, yeah, here you go,” he says, tossing the fry in the air for her.

Then Eddie, the bastard, picks up another fry and throws it as far as he can. She tears after it, tail wagging furiously as she tracks it down. She seems to get a burst of energy, running towards the beach at full speed and happily startling a couple of birds.

“You said just one!”

“She’s pretty hard to say no to,” Eddie laughs, shrugging as he tosses his trash. He stands and picks up the tennis ball from the table.

“Yeah, I know how she feels,” Richie says, looking up at him. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, and then he reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Richie’s wrist and pulling gently until he follows him into the bright sunlight. 

Once they’re standing on the edge of the forest, the rocky beach laid out in front of them, Eddie whistles once. Ripley’s attention is focused on him immediately, and she springs into action when he launches the ball into the water. She runs, body extending fully with every stride, before launching off her hind legs into the water. The splash she makes is impressive and both men laugh. She paddles out to the ball and quickly retrieves it before making her way back to shore. She shakes the water off her thick fur before loping back up to them, dropping the ball into Eddie’s open hand.

After the tenth throw, Ripley trots back to them, but she walks right up to Richie this time. She pushes at his leg, looking up at him like it’d mean the whole world if he threw the sopping wet ball for her. When she rubs her very wet furry face against his hip while making little frustrated noises, he smiles wider than he has in months. Years, maybe.

“Okay, okay,” he says, grabbing the gross little ball that’s still between her teeth. “I’ll throw it, let go.”

Ripley drops the ball and spins away, dirt flying up and sticking to her coat, barking at him once before taking off once the ball’s sailing towards the lake. He and Eddie talk about everything and nothing at all; Ripley as a puppy ( _she was a very round ball of fur, I’ll have to show you a picture_ ), vague mentions of the fact that Richie doesn’t spend much time at “home,” that he’s spent most of the last few years touring the country. Growing up and leaving Maine; coming home.

They lose it laughing when Ripley drops the ball half-way up the beach because a squirrel has ventured down a tree off to the left. She circles the trunk anxiously, looking back and forth between the two of them and the very upset squirrel. Finally, she trots back to the ball, and the endless game of fetch continues. Eddie talks about the shop, about their first restorations and his dream projects, shy pride in his voice. There’s a little color in his cheeks now, from the sun or his story, Richie’s not completely sure.

“Hey Richie?” Eddie says, watching him closely as he throws the ball again, shaking the water from his hands.

“Yeah?” He says, giving up and wiping his hands on his pants.

Eddie pauses until he looks up and meets his gaze again.

“You know Mike’s just my business partner, right?” Eddie pauses, shifting a little. “We’re not together like that.”

“Oh.” Richie’s facing is burning, his throat a little tight. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t look away, though.

“I just didn’t want you to, uh, think that–” Eddie’s the one to break the eye contact this time, looking nervously down at their feet. Then he takes a small forward until there’s barely six inches of space between them, and Richie forgets how to breathe.

“To think what?” Richie says, swallowing against the dryness in his throat.

Eddie looks back up and it’s like Richie can feel the air shift, coming to a standstill around them. He doesn’t say anything, just pushes up onto his toes and kisses him. It’s a gentle, barely-there kiss, and yet his heart starts to pound relentlessly. He feels Eddie’s hand settle flat on his chest, his touch firm, and suddenly all Richie wants is fingers on his bare skin. He pulls back from the kiss just so he can step closer, one hand hovering above the small of Eddie’s back before setting it down. Eddie gently tugs on his shirt until their lips are pressed together again.

He’s a second away from deepening the kiss, from pulling Eddie as close as he can, craving somebody’s touch more than he has in months, when they’re startled apart by Ripley shoving her nose between them. Eddie groans and drops his chin down to look at the dog nudging her way between them. Richie can’t help but laugh, rubbing Eddie’s back with his thumb.

He takes a chance and rests his cheek against Eddie’s temple; his hair is damp with sweat but still soft against his skin. They stand there like that, lingering in each other’s arms in the afternoon heat, Eddie smoothing down the wet fur between Ripley’s ears. She’s leaning against Richie’s thigh; he reaches down and sinks his free hand into the thick ruff of fur on her neck.

“She’s probably thirsty,” Eddie says, his hand sliding down to squeeze Richie’s hip. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Richie says, dropping his hand from his back but not before he turns his face to kiss his temple. Eddie finally pulls away and smiles up at him, dimples on full display. Richie wants to kiss them. There’s so much that he wants.

Eddie wanders over to the car, patting his thigh until Ripley follows. Richie watches him dig around in the car for an unopened bottle of water and a bowl. While she’s lapping up the water, he takes a towel out of the back and starts to wipe down her body. Richie smiles and turns back towards the lake, walking over to the dock and sitting down on the warm wood. 

He’s joined by the other two about ten minutes later. Eddie joins him where he sits; their feet hang over the edge, thighs touching. Ripley plops down on Richie’s other side, spreading out to bake in the sun, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth as she pants, until finally she slips into a deep sleep.

Richie follows her lead and sighs at how warm the dock is beneath his back. He takes off his glasses and slings an elbow over his eyes, blocking out the light. He can feel Eddie watching him. Then he feels a hand settle on his leg, right above the knee. He falls asleep like that, in the warm sun with a small smile on his face.

~

Eddie drops him off at home and Richie spends the next three hours asking himself why he didn’t kiss him goodbye. There was a moment, hell, there were _multiple_ opportunities where he could have reached across the car and pulled him in, and still he just let Eddie drive away. Instead, he takes out his phone and types, _thanks for inviting me today_ before deleting it. He types out, _I had a great time, ripley’s a helluva dog_ and then presses delete, delete, delete.

 _I don’t know the last time somebody kissed me like that._ Delete.

He turns on the TV, desperate to drown out the silence and empty, creaking house, letting YouTube autoplay late night talkshow interviews to its little mechanical heart’s desire. He doesn’t end up sending anything to Eddie; instead he calls Stan, and listens to him drone on about his day, about what Patty’s up to, grateful for the distraction. Stan doesn’t ask about the radio silence all day, or about his– family troubles. Stan’s good for that. Well, mostly.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you, or should I keep telling you this very exciting story of the squirrel stuck in the bird feeder?” Stan says, like he’s finally sick of Richie’s fake excitement. Okay, that’s fair.

“It’s pretty good comedy, Stan,” he says, tugging the blanket up to his chin. John Oliver talks quietly in the background.

“No, it’s not,” Stan says, and he can tell from his tone that he’s tired of playing this game. “This happens every year, Richie. I’m pretty sure last year you said, and I’m pretty sure I’m quoting here, _if I have to listen to another squirrel story I’m coming down there and chopping down your tree_ _myself._ ”

“It’s nothing, okay? I’m just not sure what– I met someone, alright? And we spent the whole day together and he _kissed_ me and I have no idea what to do.”

The words come out in a rush, his lungs tight and chill spreading down his arms. _Fuck, don’t freak out,_ he yells inside his own head. _Calm down._

“Has he said anything to you?” Stan says calmly, like he knows Richie’s standing on the edge, the rocks crumbling beneath his feet. Stan always knows.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, trying to breath through it. “I haven’t looked at my messages since we started talking.”

“Richie, we’ve been talking for an hour. You’re telling me you haven’t put me on speaker once this entire time?”

“I forgot how well you know me.” He blushes and pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes, laughing softly.

“You’re my best friend,” Stan says. Like it’s simple.

“Yeah. You’re my best friend, too.”

“Do you want to talk about him?”

Richie sits up, head falling back against the couch cushion. He sits like that for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. Stan waits.

“I think I really like him,” he finally says. “But I’m worried about the… timing. I’m not exactly back in Maine for fun reasons.”

“Maybe having a distraction will help,” Stan says, his words soft and careful.

Richie has to blink against the sudden burning in his eyes. _Fuck._

“It might help in more ways than you expect,” Stan continues. “Having someone that can be there for you might make everything a little easier. You shouldn’t have to do this alone, Richie.”

Richie’s definitely crying now.

“Fuck you, man,” Richie says, laughing through the tears. “You always make me cry.”

“It’s not exactly a difficult task,” Stan says, and he can hear the smile in it. “So? will you hang up the damn phone and message this mystery man?”

“Fine. But I’m not gonna like it.”

“Yes you will. Bye, Richie.”

“Bye,” he echoes, setting the phone down on his lap. He wipes away the tears on his cheeks, cursing under his breath. He’s a fucking crybaby.

He texts Sarah back ( _I’m sorry I didn’t take it seriously when he first started going to the doctor_ and, _you wanna get dinner tomorrow, just the two of us?_ and, _yes, I’ll come over tomorrow and read to the kids_ ) and keeps on crying, because apparently tonight’s just one of those nights now. Then he sees there’s a new message from Eddie, opens it, and grins even as he wipes his face again.

[8:21] You really wore her out. Thanks for coming with us today.

Attached to the message is a picture of Ripley, who’s taking up about 80% of the couch, belly up and front legs tucked in close to her body. Her head is on Eddie’s lap, her eyes shut and clearly in a deep sleep. His hand is buried in the thick fur under her chin.

[9:40] _it was the best day I’ve had in a long time. give her a kiss goodnight for me_

He gets sucked into another Last Week Tonight segment and doesn’t notice his phone go off. When he finally looks at the reply, he practically slams the phone down on the cushion, hands coming up to his face immediately. His cheeks are burning and he can’t seem to stop muttering _oh my god_ under his breath.

It’s another picture, because of fucking course it is. But this time Eddie’s in the frame, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Ripley’s soft muzzle. His eyes are closed, but there’s a slight upturn of his lips. Like he’s trying not to smile. Richie’s pretty sure his soul has left his body.

He finally replies, face still burning.

[9:44] _that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever fucking seen_

If he immediately saves the picture and sets it as his home screen, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

~

Sunday comes and goes. He buys Sarah dinner and they reminisce. They tease each other until the check comes and then they lean against her car in the parking lot, smoking even though they both know they shouldn’t. They sit on the hood and pull their collars up against the wind that’s picking up speed. Richie hugs his sister when she yells until she cries, and then they drive to her house and he reads to the kids until they fall asleep. He takes an Uber home.

It rains on Monday, dropping the temperature fifteen degrees as a storm pushes down from the north. The chill settles deep in his skin as the wind pulls the new leaves from the branches and scatters them across the hospital parking lot. His mother reaches for his hand and squeezes gently before her hand wanders further up, holding onto the crook of his elbow.

He’s not very good at reaching out, but he lets her hold on.

The storm thrashes against the windows as the doctor checks over their father. The rain beats a relentless rhythm against the glass as they sit and talk and say things like _I’m really happy with how your body’s reacting to this treatment_ in between light conversation about the summer markets and his father’s own cheerful stories about the grandkids. Richie laughs on cue, makes a hollow joke that makes his mother smile, but his leg bounces against the tile as quickly as the rain gathers in the gutters.

By the time he’s been dropped off at home, he can’t shake off the chill that’s settled deep inside his chest. His hands feel numb, his movements sluggish. He takes a hot shower to rinse the rain from his hair, the hospital smell from his skin, but still the cold persists. He wraps himself up in a blanket and watches movies until the sun goes down.

[5:46] Hey, your alternator came in! I should have time to install it tomorrow. The headlight motor should be here Wednesday morning. :)

[6:11] _cool, thanks_

He feels like an asshole as soon as he sends it.

[6:12] _sorry. I’m kinda having a bad day. thanks for the update, take your time. I’m not really in a rush_

[6:27] It’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?

[6:30] _not really sure._

[6:38] Here, maybe this will help.

Richie pauses _Beverly Hill Cops_ as a video message comes in. It’s Ripley, running around in what looks like a pretty big backyard, the evening light making her multi-colored coat glow. Every time she runs past Eddie she does a fake-out, coming close enough for him to reach out before spinning around and running full speed along the fence. He can hear Eddie laughing in the background, encouraging her until she finally slows to a trot and comes to him. The last shot of the video is a close-up of her nose and Eddie’s softly muttered _ugh, gross_.

Richie watches the video four times in a row.

[6:50] _you really know how to make a guy feel better_

[7:01] Well that’s good to know. Sometimes all it takes is a cute dog. Less cute is the way she eats her entire dinner in five seconds and then immediately licks my face.

 _The cute guy helps too,_ he types out before deleting it.

 _Lucky dog. You must taste good._ Delete.

He presses play on the remote and Eddie Murphy launches into another joke. A flash of lightning makes the overhead light flicker. It rains all night.

By Wednesday, Eddie’s stopped prefacing their conversations with updates about the Fiero, and Richie’s stopped asking. By the time it’s eight o’clock, Richie’s annoyed at himself for how often he’s checking his phone for new messages. He’s had problems coming across as clingy in the past, and the last thing he wants to do is scare Eddie off.

[8:12] _so there’s a chance the spare bedroom in this place is haunted_

[8:27] Haunted?

[8:29] _yeah! I keep the door closed but this morning it was open…_

[8:32] Maybe it’s just an old door lol

[8:34] _don’t u ‘lol’ me_  
[8:35] _let me borrow ripley, she’ll scare off the ghost_

[8:38] Oh god she’s an absolute wuss

[8:41] _okay well we’ll hide downstairs while you go upstairs and do an exorcism_

[8:44] You don’t exorcise ghosts, Richie.

[8:45] _whatever_  
[8:46] _how was work_

[8:51] Long. This woman always brings in her dad’s old Caddy for an oil change and asks me out like three times before leaving. It’s so awkward

Richie ignores the jealousy that immediately flares up inside him. 

[8:54] _you’re just such a sweet catch, eddie spaghetti. everyone wants a piece_

[8:55] Ugh that’s a terrible nickname

[8:56] _I think it’s pretty cute_

[8:57] Okay fine.  
[8:58] What are you watching tonight?

[9:01] _am I that predictable?? what if I’m writing_

[9:02] Are you?

[9:03] _no… I’m about to watch pitch black. u know, the first riddick movie_

[9:06] Oh I love that movie

It takes everything in him not to say _you should come over then._ He could. He could say, _well then get your butt over here, but also bring ripley because I miss her. almost as much as I miss you._

The DVD menu loops again and again, waiting for him to pick an action.

It’s been so long since he felt anything like this. It’s been years since he was excited to talk to someone every night. He’s fucking scared, honestly. It’s been so long since he felt anything sincere, since he acted sincere about his feelings with anyone else, that it’s simultaneously the best thing that’s happened in years and the scariest.

[9:12] _do you want to come over and watch it with me?_  
[9:13] _I know it’s pretty late already tho_

[9:15] I’d love to.  
[9:16] Can Ripley come?

[9:18] _umm I can’t believe you have to ask that_

[9:20] I wanted to make sure it was okay! Be there soon

Twenty minutes later, a car door slams outside, followed by the sound of claws clicking on the wood porch. He opens the door two seconds after Eddie’s knock, embarrassment flashing through him for only a second before he’s too busy being nearly knocked over by 75 pounds of excited dog to care about optics.

“Ripley, calm down,” Eddie hisses as he follows her inside. “Sorry. Rides in the car get her wound up.”

Richie doesn’t answer; he’s too busy letting Ripley cover his face in extremely sloppy kisses. It’s pretty gross, honestly, and she’s definitely licking his glasses, but this is the happiest he’s felt all week.

“Hey,” Richie finally says once he’s standing up straight again. He wipes the dog slobber off his face with his sleeve. He reaches past Eddie’s shoulder to push at the front door until it clicks shut.

Eddie’s smiling up at him in the dim light. His hair is lying every which way, as if he’s been running his fingers through it over and over for hours. He looks tired. Richie wants to kiss him.

“I brought popcorn,” Eddie says, holding up a box. Ripley’s by his side in a split second.

“Perfect,” Richie says. “I’ll, uh– I’ll go put a bag in the microwave.”

As soon as he takes the box and starts walking into the kitchen, Ripley’s his shadow. He leans against the counter while the microwave does its magic and she sits right next to him, ears perked up on her head, tail gently sweeping the floor. She stays sitting even when he takes the bag out and pours the popcorn into a bowl. He’s impressed.

“Can she have some?” Richie calls out, tossing the bag in the trash and smiling down at Ripley as she wriggles eagerly.

“Yeah,” Eddie yells back. “She’s going to have some whether we like it or not. It’s her favorite.”

Richie tosses a piece in the air and she catches it easily. They walk back into the living room, and Richie hits the switch for the overhead light. You don’t watch _Pitch Black_ with the lights on, that’s for damn sure. Eddie’s already sitting on the couch, only one leg drawn up on the couch, like he’s uncertain how much he’s allowed to sprawl.

“Relax,” Richie says, settling on his side of the couch. He resents the empty space between them.

“If I relax too much, I’ll fall asleep,” Eddie says, then laughs when Richie tosses a few pieces of popcorn at him. Ripley quickly snatches up the piece that falls to the floor.

He presses play on the remote and tosses the blanket over his legs. They toss the bowl back and forth. The spacecraft crash lands. The desert stretches out, brutal and endless. Ripley puts her two front paws on the couch before backing off, looking at Eddie in the darkness.

“Do you care if she sits up here?”

“God, no,” Richie says and pats the middle cushion until she jumps up. She curls up against him immediately, stretching her front legs out until they’re a comforting weight on his lap. He puts a few pieces of popcorn in his hand and offers them to her. The fur on her nose is so soft. She lays her head down against his stomach, and he can’t help but bend down to kiss the top of her head.

“She’s pretty cute,” he says, looking across the couch at Eddie.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, so softly he hardly hears it.

In the flashing light from the television, Richie can see the open affection on his face. He looks away. The survivors find the remnants of the outpost. Ripley sighs deeply and he feels Eddie shifting around into a more comfortable position. When he looks over again, Eddie’s curled around the dog’s hind end, feet tucked underneath him. His head is propped up on his hand, elbow bracing on the back of the couch. He’s leaning towards Richie. It’d be easy to nudge the dog off the sofa; it’d be easy to pull him closer until he’s the one lying on Richie’s lap.

His hand is resting on the dog’s side, absently playing with her fur. Richie wants to reach out and hold it. The hunt for Riddick draws his attention. He loses his nerve. 

They encounter the monsters for the first time, pulling the man deep into the tunnels. Riddick stalks his would-be captor. They discover the meaning of the alignment, the counter ticking away the years. The suns begin to set for the long, dark sleep. The earth begins to stir.

Eddie’s lying down now, legs tossed over the arm of the couch with his face on Ripley’s shoulder. He’s squinting at the TV, his breathing a little too deep.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Richie says during a rare quiet scene.

“I’m not,” Eddie grumbles, a little whiny, and it’s so fucking cute he can’t help but chuckle a little.

Without really realizing what he’s doing, he reaches out and runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair. He goes still, suddenly unsure if he should pull away or not, but then Eddie leans into the touch. He does it again, fingers scratching lightly at his skin. His eyes are closed now, his hand a fist in Ripley’s fur. Richie slides his hand down and rubs the back of his neck with his thumb, fingers slipping beneath his shirt collar and simply resting on his skin.

Eddie sighs deeply and turns his face until it’s obscured by the dog’s fur. She stirs on Richie’s lap, lifting her head in great yawn. She stretches and then starts to lift herself up.

“Rip, no, stay–” Eddie whines, trying to hold on to her. She wanders off, curling up on an empty patch of floor and tucking her nose under her forearm. Eddie’s glaring at the TV now, rubbing at his eye. Richie’s hand is still on his neck; he rubs at his skin gently.

“We can turn it off if you want,” he says, even though he doesn’t want to. He wants Eddie to stay. _Please stay._

“No, I’m awake,” Eddie says, even as his eyes slip shut again. Richie snorts and Eddie immediately reaches out to flick the side of his leg.

“Okay, well,” he says, heart already lodged in his throat. “C’mere then.”

Richie squeezes the back of his neck until Eddie opens his eyes, then gently nudges him closer. He finally relents and scoots forward until his head is on Richie’s lap, his shoulder warm where it’s pressed against the side of his thigh. He runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair again.

The survivors begin to work together. It starts to rain.

They’re tying themselves together and lighting a path towards the ship when Eddie’s breathing starts to even out again, his fingers flexing on Richie’s leg. They realize that they’re being tracked, being hunted, and Eddie suddenly turns around, tucking his face against his stomach. His hand finds Richie’s side and settles there.

Richie picks up the remote and turns down the volume, running his hand up and down Eddie’s side while he sleeps. They reach the spacecraft; their only way off this world swarming with demons that thrive in the darkness. The engines burn the creatures on take-off, the rain beating against the windshield until they break through the storm. Riddick and Fry save the day.

The credits start to roll. Across the room, Ripley’s legs twitch in a dream. Eddie is soft beneath Richie’s hand, limbs loose in sleep. He leans down to kiss his shoulder, eyes slipping shut as he breathes him in, his lips lingering there longer than he intends. He starts to pull back when he feels Eddie stir. Richie feels his hand slide up until his hand is wrapped around the back of Richie’s neck, holding him there.

Richie doesn’t try to pull away, just lifts his head enough to move down a little, so he can kiss Eddie’s bare skin. The hand on his neck shifts, fingers tangling in his hair. He feels Eddie lift his head, feels his breath hot against his neck, and lets himself be pulled back just far enough for Eddie to find his mouth and kiss him.

It’s easy to lose track of time when Eddie’s kissing him like this. Slow and hot, his tongue sweeping across Richie’s lips until he opens up and lets him in. A warm hand on his face as he tries to pull Richie closer, until his shoulders start to ache from the strain. He slips a hand under the edge of Eddie’s shirt and rubs his palm up and down his side. The way his skin trembles beneath his fingers is intoxicating. Eddie gasps into his mouth and a shiver runs down Richie’s spine. 

“Fuck, Eddie.” He leans back with a groan when he can’t take the ache in his shoulders anymore.

Eddie follows him, sitting up kissing his neck, his jaw. Finds his lips again and kisses him so hard Richie feels bruised and tender, inside and out. Eddie’s stomach is searing hot under his hand. He never wants to stop touching him, never wants Eddie to stop kissing him like this.

Unfortunately, it seems to hit them both that it’s past midnight. Eddie’s grip on his bicep falters, his kisses lose their urgency. His lips are soft against his neck, kissing him once more before tucking his face under Richie’s chin.

“I should go,” Eddie says, though it’s more of a hum. Barely a whisper. Neither of them move.

“You don’t have to,” Richie says, giving them both an opportunity to be selfish.

“I have work in the morning.”

“Aren’t you the boss?” Richie says, taking his hand out from under his shirt. He gently rakes the back of his knuckles against Eddie’s arm.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs against his neck, his breath a slight tickle. “But that just means I’m allowed to show up a little late.”

All he wants to do is take Eddie to bed and gather him in his arms. He wants to feel him warm against his side all night long, and run his hands over his body in the morning light until they’re both gasping and sweating and lost in each other. 

He lets him go.

“Are you okay to drive?”

Eddie leans back and traces a finger over his cheek. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

 _Wait, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t go._ _Please._

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Eddie says against his lips. He kisses Richie again. A kiss goodbye.

They untangle themselves and Eddie stands up, stretching his arms above him. His shirt lifts up, teasing Richie with pale skin in the dark room. He wants to lean forward and kiss him there until Eddie’s a trembling mess in his arms, until he’s dragging Richie down the hall and into bed.

He lets him go.

He follows him to the front door and laughs when Ripley stands up with a groan, stretching her long hind legs behind her as she walks towards the open door. He grabs Eddie’s elbow and pulls him into a hug. The door hangs open and lets the cool night air in, pushing past them. He holds on.

“I’ll let you know when I’m home,” Eddie says, and then he’s gone, backing out of his driveway.

Richie falls asleep curled around his phone.

~

He wakes up alone. It’s already past ten in the morning.

He reaches for his glasses and sits up in bed, blinking at the screen. There’s three messages from Eddie; the one from last night that he fell asleep before reading, and two from an hour ago.

[12:48] I hope you’re asleep by now but I got home safe. Goodnight, Rich  
[9:14] Just wanted to say good morning. Thanks for last night  
[9:17] I’m gonna try to get your car done today but I’m not sure, sorry

[10:25] _it’s okay take your time_  
[10:26] _and I’m glad you came over too_

He sits there another half hour until his stomach starts to protest loudly. Eddie doesn’t text him back. He stops checking after an hour.

He takes an Uber to his parents’ house, has lunch with his mom and stays until his father disappears into the bedroom for a nap. She gives him a ride home and forces himself to sit at the kitchen table and work on his material for the tour. He takes out a few jokes that don’t feel right anymore. Takes out a story that feels a little too real with everything going on. Workshops something new and calls Steve and lets him yell for half an hour until it’s out of his system. He tells him the new joke and feels a little better when he gets a laugh out of Steve.

“That’s pretty good, Rich,” he says. “Are you sure you’re ready for that kinda stuff?”

“I don’t think I’ll know if I’m ready for sure until I get up there to do it, man,” he says in return.

“Yeah,” Steve says, gently, like maybe he understands more than Richie really knew. “Well, keep working and send me your drafts tonight if you want. I’ll try to have the Portland details by tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he says, hanging up the phone.

He sets it face down on the table. He doesn’t check for new messages. He works for another hour, orders some Thai, and then works some more. His hand starts to cramp. He finally retreats to the living room and puts on another movie. He checks his phone. No new messages. He turns up the volume and watches Dominic Toretto win another drag race.

He’s falling asleep on the couch when suddenly his phone starts to ring, vibrating angrily on the coffee table. He’s about ready to curse Steve out for calling after nine, but then he sees the name. It’s Eddie.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m really sorry I didn’t–” Eddie says in a rush, like he’s out of breath. “Just… Hey. Today got really busy. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.”

Richie smiles a little sadly, letting out a ragged breath he didn’t really know he was holding in.

“It’s okay, Eds,” he says. “Really.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Eddie says after a long pause. His heart jumps.

“Yeah?” Richie finally gets out. “I wish you could have stayed over.”

“Me too,” Eddie says. He sounds like he’s taking shallow breaths. Richie squeezes his eyes shut. _Stop imagining things._

“So, busy day again?”

“Uh huh.” Something scratches against the phone on Eddie’s side of the line. “We had like three walk-ins. I hate walk-ins. I didn’t even get to work on the Fiero.”

“Aw, I bet she’s feeling lonely.”

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, like he’s falling asleep. “I know how she feels.”

Richie bites his lip and slides down on the couch until he’s flat on his back.

“What are you doing right now?” He asks so softly the words barely come out, even though everything in him is screaming _I want to touch you, please let me kiss you again._

“Lying in bed. I wish you were here,” Eddie says, like he has no idea what he’s doing to him right now. “Ripley takes up too much space.”

Richie can’t help but laugh, even as arousal starts to settle deep in his groin as he thinks about Eddie stretched out in bed thinking about _Richie._ He’s thinking about _him._

“I hate to break it to you, but I take up quite a bit of space, too,” Richie says. He thinks about all the ways he wants to take up space with Eddie. Under him. On top of him.

“I think you’d make it worth my while,” Eddie says, his voice so low it rasps in his ear.

“God, yeah,” Richie swallows hard. His throat is so dry. “Yeah, I would.”

“You should come by the shop tomorrow,” Eddie suddenly says. “I’ll be done with your car. We close at five on Fridays. You should come by after that.”

“You want me to come pick it up after you’ve already closed?”

“Mhm,” Eddie says, exhaling softly into the speaker. “I close alone on Fridays.”

Richie presses the phone tighter against his ear. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, feeling like his skin’s already on fire. “You should get some sleep, huh?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, letting it hang in the air for a few seconds. “Goodnight, Richie”

“Night.”

The line goes dead and he tosses the blanket over his head. _Fuck._ How the fuck is he going to make it until five o’clock?

~

He’s dropped off at Kaspbrak Restorations at twenty minutes past five. The day moved about as quickly as cold syrup. He feels jittery, a slight shake in his hands as he pulls open the lobby door and steps inside. The only light still on is the desk lamp behind the counter. The door to the garage is propped open; he walks inside.

Eddie’s standing next to a tall toolbox, wiping down a wrench with a dirty rag. He opens a drawer and puts it in its rightful slot, and reaches for a pair of pliers, wiping them down too. Richie watches him from the doorway; his gaze lingers on his hands. It’s a methodical task, something born from habit. He can tell he’s lost in it.

Most of the lights are out in the garage, too. The Fiero in the third bay. Eddie could have parked it outside; he could have met him in the lobby with keys in hand, taken Richie’s credit card, and said thanks for your business.

But he didn’t. He asked Richie to come to the shop when he knew they’d be alone. He thinks about Eddie’s hand on his cheek, about the warm weight of him in his lap. He walks towards him.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he says, nodding appreciatively at the room around them.

Eddie snorts at him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, standing next to him now. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a shop this clean.”

“I like to keep it clean,” Eddie says, a little smirk on his face. He’s still wiping down the tools; there’s only a few left.

“Oh?” Richie leans against the side of the toolbox, crossing one foot over the other. “I was hoping you’d like it a little dirty.”

Eddie’s hand stills on the wrench in his hand. He looks up at Richie from under his eyelashes, and slowly finishes wiping the wrench clean without breaking eye contact.

“Sometimes.”

“Good to know,” he says, and he’s surprised by how steady his voice sounds when Eddie’s looking at him like _that._

Eddie finishes putting everything away and wipes his hands with the rag, but he can still see the smudges of oil on his fingers. There’s a black spot of grease on the heel of his hand. Richie wants it pressed to his skin.

“You wanna see your car?” Eddie asks, dragging his attention back up to his face. He’s smiling very knowingly, but Richie finds he doesn’t give a shit if he’s being painfully transparent.

“Sure.”

He follows him over to the car and tries to focus on what Eddie’s telling him about the new alternator, but it’s pretty much a lost cause as soon Eddie leans against the hood. He moves forward until he’s standing between his splayed legs. Eddie starts to laugh a little, but he quiets quickly when Richie kisses him hard. He inhales sharply and is immediately consumed by the smell of motor oil and metal and Eddie.

He kisses him until Eddie pushes him away with a gasp, struggling to catch his breath.

“Jesus, Richie,” he pants out. “I’ve been thinking about this for days.”

“This specifically?”

“Shut up and take off your shirt,” Eddie practically growls, pulling at the hem until Richie pulls it over his head.

He leans forward to kiss his chest as soon as the shirt’s out of the way, kissing his way up to Richie’s neck while his hands move restless over his stomach, squeezing his hips until he leaves little black fingerprints behind. Richie pulls at the zipper on Eddie’s coveralls until it slides all the way down. Eddie bucks into his palm when he passes over the front of the shorts he’s wearing underneath.

He pulls Eddie’s face away from his neck and kisses him, shoving the coveralls off his shoulders until his arms are free to wrap around Richie’s neck again. He puts his hands under Eddie’s thighs and pushes him further up the hood until he can lay him down, moaning into his mouth as their bodies settle together. Eddie’s hands are hot on his back, fingers digging in as he tries to pull him closer. All he wants is to touch him, but he has to brace himself on the car unless he wants to fall over. He thrusts against him as best he can, gasping into Eddie’s mouth as he feels his hard cock drag against his stomach through the thin material of his shorts.

Then Eddie’s hand sneaks its way between their bodies and presses hard against the bulge in his jeans, squeezing him when Richie thrusts up again, sliding them both up the hood even more.

“Richie,” Eddie says, pulling back until he can look him in the eye. Fuck, his eyes are so dark.

“There’s a– fuck,” he gasps when Richie thrusts again, rubbing his cock with his stomach. “Take me to the bench over there, I want to– to feel you.”

It’s hard to think straight right now, his mind is so fuzzy, but then he processes Eddie’s words and turns his head to glance at the workbench.

“Okay, okay, just– hold on,” he says, nudging Eddie’s thighs up higher until they’re wrapped around his hips.

He finds his balance and pushes off the car, walking them over to the workbench until Eddie can sit down. It’s the perfect height, _Eds, you fuckin’ horny genius,_ and he leans back in to kiss him again but he’s stopped by a hand on his chest.

“Just help me take these off first, okay,” Eddie says, voice desperate and sounding every inch as turned on as Richie is. He leans back and pulls at the coveralls until they’re past his hips, until Richie’s able to help pull them over his shoes.

Eddie pulls him forward as soon as they fall to the floor, wrapping his legs around him again. His lips feel bruised and chapped but he doesn’t want to stop kissing him, not when it feels like this. Their groins fit together easily like this, and it feels so good, but he wants to feel skin. Eddie’s hand finds the button on his pants like he’s thinking the same thing. He pops it open and pushes the zipper down, shoving his hand inside and stroking him roughly through his boxers.

“Oh, fuck.” He presses his forehead to Eddie’s shoulder, glancing down between their bodies.

“What do you want?” Eddie says against his ear.

“Fuck,” Richie pants out, a shiver running down his back at the words and Eddie’s hot breath on his skin. “I don’t care– just touch me, please.”

He feels Eddie kiss his cheek, the stubble on their faces scraping together and burning so sweetly. Then he pushes at his pants and until they’re half way down his ass, so he can reach into Richie’s underwear and pull out his cock. He’s dripping already, flushed red and desperate. Eddie takes him in his hand and lightly squeezes the base before pulling up, drawing it out.

Richie wraps his arms around him, desperately pushing his t-shirt up under his armpits so he can see him, so he can run his hands over his sweat-slicked skin. Eddie jerks him off like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to piece together, twisting his wrist until he gets a new reaction he can chase down and figure out.

“You’re so hot,” Eddie gasps out, starting to jerk him even faster. He’s shifting restlessly on the table, his hips tilting forward erratically, seeking relief. 

Richie lifts his head to kiss him again, moaning into his mouth.

“Eddie, I’m so–” He rubs a hand over Eddie’s stomach up to his chest and then down again, until he can feel his trapped cock twitching against his wrist. “I’m gonna come if you don’t sl–”

“Please,” Eddie says, his stomach trembling under Richie’s hand. “Please come for me.”

He leans back and pulls Eddie’s hand off his dick, tugging it up until it’s on his stomach instead. Eddie rakes his fingers through the hair there, rubbing his stomach as it clenches under his touch. Richie grabs his cock and pumps quickly, jaw dropping open as he breathes heavily. Eddie’s leaning back on one hand now, shirt still shoved up to his collarbone, his bare chest on display like a target.

Then Richie notices the dark ink on the inside of his bicep, an owl ready to strike, and then he sees the tattoos right below his collarbone, stark on his pale skin. He thinks about the marks on his hips left by Eddie’s dirty hands and he comes with a gasp, watching it gather on his stomach. He can see Eddie’s dick twitch in his shorts and it sends him over the edge, pulling the last of his orgasm out of him.

He closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath, a soft noise escaping his throat when he feels Eddie cup his cheek.

“You look good like that,” he says as he leans forward for a kiss, humming against his lips as Eddie runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie snorts, reaching down to touch himself.

“Uh-uh!” He kisses him again, because he can. “My turn.”

He tucks himself back in his boxers and then pushes at Eddie’s shoulders until he’s leaning back again. He kisses his collarbone and then sucks at his nipple until it’s hard under his tongue. He reaches down to tug his shorts down enough for him to pull Eddie’s cock out.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie gasps, thrusting into his fist.

Richie smiles against him and kisses down his stomach, sucking at the soft skin on his hip. He turns his face until Eddie’s cock is hot against his cheek. He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist and draws him close, rubbing his face against his cock until his cheek is wet and Eddie’s fingers are bruising his shoulder.

He brings one hand back around to hold the base of Eddie’s cock while he licks at the tip, sucking lightly until he’s squirming. He flattens his tongue against the underside and moans, enjoying the heavy weight of him. He wraps his lips around his cock and bobs his head once, barely taking him in, before he sinks down and takes every inch of him.

He pins Eddie’s hips down and swallows around him before pulling back up. He sucks his cock until Eddie’s mumbling his name over and over, fingers tight in his hair now, like he’s just trying to hold on.

“You gonna come for me, Eddie baby?” He says when he pulls off to catch his breath.

He lets go of Eddie’s hips and runs his palm up his ribs, thumb brushing over his nipple. His hips thrust up and Richie opens his mouth wider, letting his cock fuck the inside of his cheek.

“Oh– fuck, Richie–”

His cock slips out of his mouth again with a wet pop.

“Yeah? You wanna fuck my mouth, Eds?”

He lifts Eddie’s right thigh until it’s over his shoulder, squeezing his ass with his hand. He sucks at the crease in his hip until it’s tender and red, and then he looks up at Eddie. His whole body is flushed and he’s panting heavily, his fingers flexing in Richie’s hair.

He takes his cock back in his mouth and sucks and licks at the tip until Eddie’s hips start to move. He uses his hand to shove his ass forward harder, deeper, until Eddie gets the hint and starts to fuck his face like he means it.

“Richie–” he says, breathless and desperate. “I’m gonna come, stop–”

He doesn’t stop, _no fucking way,_ he moans around Eddie’s cock as loudly as he can, taking him deeper until the hand in his hair tightens in warning. His hand eases its grip on his ass and eases him through it, sucking gently until Eddie pulls him off.

He lets Eddie’s leg slip off his shoulder before leaning back on his heels, looking up at him with an exhausted, satisfied grin. Eddie laughs at him under his breath, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. He sits up straight and pulls his t-shirt over his head, using it to wipe himself down and clean Richie’s come off his stomach. Richie presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

“Come here,” Eddie says, shaking his shoulder gently until he stands up with a groan. He’s way too old to be sucking cock while kneeling on concrete. But then Eddie draws him into a hug, chin hooked over his shoulder and his arms loose around Richie’s waist. He kisses Eddie’s neck, lips lingering on his skin as he traces a finger down his spine.

The sun is starting to go down outside; deep purple light has started to come in through the small windows at the tops of the garage doors.

“Will you come stay with me tonight?” Eddie asks, breaking the easy silence. He sounds uncertain, almost like he’s hesitating. Like he’s not a hundred percent sure what Richie’s answer will be.

“Only if we stop for dinner somewhere first,” he mumbles against his skin. He hopes Eddie can feel his smile.

Eddie laughs and tightens his arms around him. “Sure. Since you asked so nicely.”

~

Saturday passes by at a lazy pace. They sleep and kiss in the early morning light until absent touches turn intentional, and then they sleep again, still wrapped up in each other. The sky is bright blue when Ripley rests her head on the bed and whines softly until Eddie stirs and laughs at her gentle licks on his arm. The three of them eat a late breakfast and then retreat back to the bedroom, and this time Ripley’s the one who falls asleep on Richie’s chest. Eddie takes their picture.

It’s easy to lose track of time with Eddie; it’s easy to lose track of every worry in the back of his mind and let himself just live a little for once.

Later, he buys them dinner and they sit on the backyard patio until the sun goes down. Then he lets Eddie pull him back to bed, and lets him forget for a little while longer. 

By Sunday afternoon, they’ve both finally grown restless enough to drag themselves out of the house. They drive out of the city and into the forest just like before, but this time Richie’s not too nervous to reach over to grab Eddie’s hand. Ripley places her front feet on the center console and looks out the windshield, her tail thumping against the backseat. As soon as Eddie’s foot lets off the gas and they start to slow down, she licks at the side of his face until he’s laughing.

Richie just encourages her, laughing loudly when she sticks her tongue right in Eddie’s ear.

“Oh, you asshole! Ripley, stop!”

Unfortunately for him, she doesn’t stop until the car does. She dances in the backseat until Eddie gets out of his seat and frees her, and then she runs laps around the forest like she’s been caged for weeks. She sniffs at the bed of pine needles under her feet before tearing across the rocky beach after a couple of herons that have swum too close to shore.

The sun has already dipped below the tops of the trees, casting the forest in shadow. Richie zips up his jacket and walks over to where Eddie’s standing a few feet back from the water. He stands behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. His flannel jacket is soft and warm against his skin.

Eddie leans back in his arms and tilts his head until it’s resting comfortably against Richie’s. They watch the sun finish its journey toward the horizon, casting the fluffy clouds overhead in pink and orange light. Ripley trots along the shore until she’s sitting next to them and looking up at Eddie with her big brown eyes, her head pillowed on his thigh.

Richie pulls him back towards the picnic table and turns on the little lantern they brought with them. Eddie sits on the table’s surface and tugs at Richie’s arm until he’s standing between his legs. They kiss until it’s pitch black and the evening chill has descended around them.

Eddie’s cheeks are cold to the touch when he finally pulls back and lifts a hand to push the hair out of his eyes. He kisses the tip of his cold little nose and laughs when Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and tries to pull back, obviously trying not to smile.

“You’re too cute, Eds,” he says, pulling him into a hug. 

They watch Ripley chase fireflies in the dim light until their fingers go numb. Richie kisses the top of Eddie’s head again and thinks to himself that maybe Stan was right. Maybe he doesn’t have to do this alone.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who cares, the cars:  
> Richie's [1988 Pontiac Fiero GT](https://d32c3oe4bky4k6.cloudfront.net/-/media/uscamediasite/images/story-images/2019/01/03/fiero-88-gt.ashx?modified=20190103151039) (and [another picture here](https://d32c3oe4bky4k6.cloudfront.net/-/media/uscamediasite/images/story-images/2019/01/03/fiero-88-gt2.ashx?modified=20190103151047) because I admit I find this car pretty sexy) and the [white 1966 Ford F-100](https://www.ford-trucks.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/s-l1600-6-1-e1477586025695.jpg). Eddie's [Subaru WRX hatchback](https://live.staticflickr.com/7253/7619209872_7c5f04f19a_b.jpg). Sorry, I like cars.
> 
> I'm on Twitter @berrkmanblock!


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